


A Witch Indeed

by Realmer06



Series: Pieces Universe [30]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, pieces universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realmer06/pseuds/Realmer06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva McGonagall takes her pastoral duties very seriously. She visits each and every Muggleborn student and their family personally, to inform them of their place at Hogwarts. But some young Muggleborns capture her interest more than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Witch Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t have done this without my beta Maggie! This piece was partially inspired by a post on Tumblr of a young Hermione reading Matilda and trying (and succeeding!) to lift a pencil with her mind. I kind of took that image and ran with it. I loved exploring the parallels between Hermione and Minerva, and I enjoyed answering some of those lingering questions of the fandom! I hope you enjoy reading them!

([The initial inspiration from if-dementors-were-pink and bevsi on Tumblr](http://if-dementors-were-pink.tumblr.com/post/140741056190/intelligencehavingfun-bevsi))

One of the duties of the Deputy Head of Hogwarts was to ensure that all incoming Muggleborn students were informed of their heritage and provided with all the resources necessary to attend the school should they so desire. Deputy Heads in the past often delegated the responsibility to Ministry officials or other teachers, but Minerva McGonagall took the task upon herself from the first, and she took the responsibility very seriously. Who better, she reasoned, to let these young children know what to expect than a teacher from the school who had been raised in a Muggle world herself?  
  
Which was why she had spent the last two days sitting on a garden wall in Essex County in her Animagus form, watching a young girl and her babysitter through the front parlor window. The girl’s name was Hermione Granger, she was eleven years old, and she was a witch. Though Minerva had yet to see any firsthand evidence of that fact, the girl’s name had been recorded by the magical quill that kept track of such things, and the quill was never wrong. Hermione Granger was a witch, and she was now old enough to begin at Hogwarts, and so Minerva was here to share the news with the girl and her family.  
  
She had learned some time ago that scouting out these homes and families in her Animagus form made the meeting go easier because it allowed her to gain some sense of the family dynamic and how they might react to the news. In her sixteen years as Deputy Head, Minerva had seen it all -- relief, suspicion, ornament-throwing anger, excitement, disbelief, and everything in between. She had seen families who had tried to give her their children on the spot and families who had refused to believe what she said or allow their children to attend Hogwarts at all, but those were the extremes. For the most part, the families accepted the news with a sense of _That certainly explains some things_ , and bundled the slightly nervous but mostly excited child onto the Hogwarts Express on September first with minimal dramatics.  
  
She was thinking about the four families she had visited already this summer and the best times to schedule their follow-up visits when a noise from beside her made her turn. Approaching at a crouch down the walk that led to the porch was a bushy-haired nearly-twelve-year-old making kissing noises and calling, “Here, kitty,” in a soft and careful voice. In one hand she carried an open tin. In the other, a small bowl that appeared to be filled with milk. Minerva sniffed. Yes, milk, and the tin held kippers.  
  
The scent of the food made her stomach tighten with hunger. As a general rule, Minerva didn’t like to eat in her Animagus form -- it always felt rather undignified -- but breakfast had been several hours ago, and an empty stomach was an empty stomach, even if it was the size of a cat’s. Besides, the girl was looking at her so very earnestly.  
  
With a cat’s infinite grace, she leapt lightly from the garden wall and approached the bowl and tin (now nestled neatly in the grass) with caution. She had taken Albus’s comments some ten years ago to heart. _I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly_ , he had said, and after that, she had taken it upon herself to ensure that from then on, her movements in cat form were much more catlike.  
  
So she crept to the bowl and began lapping up the milk (she left the kippers alone -- she didn’t care for them in human form, and she knew from unfortunate past experience that eating them as a cat would give her a sour stomach for the rest of the day). She knew that now that she’d come within arms’ reach of a girl who had given her milk, she was about to be petted, and she resigned herself to it. Being petted was another of those things she felt was terribly undignified. But Hermione’s fingers were gentle, scratching around her neck and ears.  
  
“No collar, huh, kitty?” Hermione asked her. “But you look like you’re being taken care of, so you probably aren’t a stray.” The girl sighed and tucked her knees up to her chest. “If you were a stray, I might be able to convince Mum to let me keep you. If I promised to keep you as an outside cat. Daddy’s terribly allergic. But I did read somewhere that a cat will keep coming back to the place it was fed, and I’ve seen you hanging around the past few days. Mum always says you can’t reason with cats, so if she doesn’t know I’ve fed you, then it’s just you coming around all the time, see?” Hermione grinned, the smile lighting up her whole face. “And then I can at least pretend I have a cat, especially if you let me pet you like this.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “So don’t tell Mum about the milk, okay? It’ll be our secret.”  
  
_Clever_ , Minerva thought, sitting back and eyeing the girl with new interest. _Very clever._  
  
But young Hermione didn’t notice how intently the cat was now looking at her. “Oo, aren’t you a pretty kitty,” she exclaimed. “With those marks around your eyes just like glasses!” She sighed again then, and laid her cheek against her knees, still scratching away while Minerva regarded her with her unblinking yellow eyes. “I should like to have glasses myself,” Hermione confided then. “But Mum says I should be grateful I don’t need them. And I suppose braces _and_ glasses would be a bit much. I get teased enough at school as it is.” A cloud passed briefly over the girl’s face, then she brightened, though it seemed to Minerva that the latter was a bit forced. “But I’m starting secondary school this year, and hopefully it will be different, though Mum and Daddy haven’t decided yet where I’m going. They’re waiting to hear back about some tests that I took.”  
  
“Hermione?” The babysitter came out onto the porch, looking for her charge, and when she spotted her, she smiled and put a hand on her hip. “Hermione, what have I told you about the cat?”  
  
“I’m not bringing her inside,” Hermione argued instantly. “And I’m not picking her up or anything. I just gave her some milk because she looked hungry, that’s all.”  
  
“That’s all?” the babysitter asked shrewdly, and Hermione bowed her head, caught.  
  
“Well, I _did_ pet her,” she admitted. “But only with one hand, Amanda, I don’t have any hair on me, and I’ll wash up before Daddy gets home.”  
  
“All right then,” Amanda said with a little laugh. “You can have another minute with your feline friend, but then you need to come inside. Your mum and dad will be home soon.”  
  
Young Hermione sighed again, but stated her agreement. Once the screen door had shut behind the babysitter, Hermione said to Minerva, “I suppose I’d better go in, then. And I have to take the milk and kippers with me, or Mum will be suspicious. Do you want any more?”  
  
Minerva made a show of sniffing the bowl, then sat back and licked at a paw (another of those cat behaviors she did only when people were watching). Hermione laughed. “I guess that’s a no,” she said. She gave Minerva one more quick scratch behind the ears, then stood and gathered the bowl and tin and headed for the house.  
  
Halfway there, though, disaster struck. Her foot slipped off the walkway and she stumbled, dropping the bowl, which fell for the stone as if in slow motion and shattered on the pathway, much to Hermione’s horror. “Oh, no, no, no!” she exclaimed, kneeling by the pieces. “Oh, Mum is going to be so cross!” She bit her lip and looked furtively up and down the street. Then she held trembling hands out over the pieces, squeezed her eyes shut hard, and whispered, “ _Please_ go back together.”  
  
Just as Minerva was thinking about trying to work some nonverbal magic in her Animagus form (not easy, but she had managed it before), there was a mild _pop_ , and a whole piece of crockery sat on the walk in front of them both. Minerva blinked.  
  
Hermione, opening her eyes, gave a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, and when she leaned forward to pick it up, she caught sight of Minerva out of the corner of her eye and immediately looked guilty. “You won’t tell anyone about that, will you, kitty?” she asked somewhat anxiously. “I don’t know _why_ I can do it. It just happens sometimes. But it’ll be our secret, okay?” And with a finger to her lips, she picked up the bowl and ran the rest of the way into the house.  
  
Minerva stayed right where she was by the wall, staring at the place where the shattered pieces had lain. Then, in one swift movement, she stood and trotted over and began sniffing where the magic had occurred. Cats had inordinately good senses for those things, and yes, what Hermione had done had the shape and sense and smell of a solid and respectable _Reparo_ , and _that_ . . . that was something to be thought about in some depth.  
  
Underage Muggleborn magic usually felt like an explosion, in shape and sense and smell, a bombastic outward force of pent up emotion, vague and undefined. Lights flickered, objects fell over or blew apart, that sort of thing. Underage wizard-born magic was usually slightly better defined, young wizards and witches having observed spells and understanding more what magic could do. They might be able to deliberately turn a light out (though usually not on) or Summon a desired object to them, but even then, the magic was only a rough, wobbly version of the actual spells learned later.  
  
This, though . . . it happened, occasionally, with a particularly dedicated mind. But it took enormous focus and will and dedication, and a fair amount of power besides. Untrained, eleven-year-old, Muggleborn Hermione Granger had just performed a better non-verbal Repairing Charm than several sixth year students Minerva could name, and that required some serious thinking about.  
  
While the Granger family ate dinner that night, Minerva returned to the wizarding couple in the neighborhood who were graciously allowing her to use their home as a base of operations. There she changed into the one Muggle business suit she owned. Her clothes transformed with her of course, but Muggle clothes always ended up decidedly wrinkled at the end of the day as a cat. She had no idea why, and it was most infuriating, both that it should happen at all, and that she had not yet been able to find a way to keep it from happening.  
  
Once in her Muggle attire, her wand stowed safely inside a sensible Muggle briefcase, she walked the three blocks back to the Grangers’ and rang the bell.  
  
“Can I help you?” Mrs. Granger asked with a smile upon opening the door.  
  
“Mrs. Diane Granger?” Minerva asked.  
  
“Yes, that’s me.”  
  
“My name is Minerva McGonagall, Mrs. Granger. I am an instructor at a school called Hogwarts, and I am here to talk to you and your husband about your daughter Hermione.”  
  
Mrs. Granger’s eyes lit up with understanding, which seemed a bit strange to Minerva. “Oh! Yes, Ms. Strickler said she had sent Hermione’s scores to some advanced academies. Come right in, Ms. McGonagall.”  
  
And she stepped back to welcome Minerva through the door. Though she was somewhat surprised at her reception, Minerva was well able to mask it as she stepped inside. “Let me just fetch my husband from his study,” Mrs. Granger was saying. “Can I get you anything? My husband and I usually have coffee after dinner, or I can put a kettle on for tea?”  
  
“Coffee is fine, you needn’t go to any trouble,” Minerva assured her. She was shown into the front parlor and invited to take a seat. Only when the other woman was out of the room did Minerva allow one slightly surprised eyebrow to rise.  
  
She stood again when Mrs. Granger returned to the room with her husband, and shook hands with them both warmly as introductions were made.  
  
“Now, then,” Mr. Granger said as they all three settled themselves onto various seats. “You’re here to talk about Hermione? We have been hoping to hear from one of the schools Mrs. Strickler recommended. Hermione just learns so quickly she spends most of her time at school bored.”  
  
“Which school did you say you were from?” Mrs. Granger asked then.  
  
“Hogwarts School,” Minerva answered. “I doubt you’ve heard of it, however. We are very specialized.”  
  
“But you’ve seen Hermione’s aptitude scores?” Mrs. Granger asked with a slight frown.  
  
“I believe our school will fit Hermione better than any other school you could send her to,” Minerva said, deftly avoiding the actual question. Her response made Mr. Granger laugh.  
  
“Well,” he said with a friendly chuckle, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, “I’m certainly willing to be pitched to. What is it about Hogwarts that makes it Hermione’s perfect match? What exactly is your specialization?”  
  
This was the point in the conversation where Minerva chose between her two different approaches. Normally, she tried to ease the family into the idea of wizards and witches, gently and with a great many reassurances that no one participating in the conversation had lost or were losing their minds. But every once in a while, she encountered a family who could handle (and would appreciate) directness. From everything she had observed, in the past two days and the last three minutes, the Grangers were one such family.  
  
And so she simply looked Mr. Granger straight in the eye and answered, “Magic.”  
  
Mrs. Granger let out a belated laugh of stunned disbelief, but Mr. Granger held Minerva’s gaze with only a rising of the eyebrows. “Magic,” he repeated. “Like card tricks, Abracadabra, Harry Houdini, that sort of thing?”  
  
“No,” Minerva answered simply.  
  
“No,” he repeated again. “I didn’t think that was what you meant.”  
  
“You mean like . . . Gandalf?” Mrs. Granger asked, searching for examples. “Or Prospero or, I don’t know, fairy godmothers?”  
  
“Whichever example helps you to best accept the notion, yes,” she answered in a calm and level voice. Mr. Granger was smiling now, looking endlessly amused. Minerva returned the smile. “Before you dismiss me out of hand, you should know that I can offer you proof.” Mr. Granger laughed, sounding delighted.  
  
“Oh, I’m certain that you can. But let’s play this out to the end, before we agree to potentially have our steady worldview completely shaken out from under us. If we believed you, what would your next step be?”  
  
“I would ask you if could think of any instances where Hermione had done something inexplicable. Something out of the ordinary, that you couldn’t account for.”  
  
Mrs. Granger seemed much more at a loss with the situation than her husband. “I don’t--” she started, wringing her hands a bit in her lap and looking flustered. “I mean, we used to _joke_ that she was magicking herself out of her crib, but all two-year-olds do that. She’s always been bright. She figured out the latch.”  
  
“And took pains to latch it behind her again?” Mr. Granger asked. “That always struck me as odd.”  
  
“Not that odd,” Mrs. Granger said wryly. “We’re talking about a child who color codes the family calendar and alphabetizes her bookshelf. She’s always been fastidious.”  
  
“Mmm. That is true.” He considered for a moment, then asked, “What about the time she silenced her classroom?”  
  
Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You have always read more into that report than I have, Jonathan.”  
  
“May I ask?” Minerva interjected, and Mrs. Granger sighed.  
  
“It was her first year of primary school. The class was being loud and she couldn’t hear the teacher and no one would be quiet when she asked. So she lost her temper and screamed and everyone went silent.”  
  
“The entire room,” Mr. Granger broke in. “Teacher included.”  
  
“ _But_ ,” Mrs. Granger stressed, “she was a normally quiet and well behaved kid who got mad and shrieked like a banshee. Of course everyone shut up.”  
  
“But the whole room?” Mr. Granger questioned. “The radiator and the projector, all going completely silent?”  
  
“An exaggeration from the teacher,” Mrs. Granger maintained, and she turned to Minerva. “I’m sorry. _Maybe_ people exist in the world like you’re describing. Maybe. But I don’t think Hermione’s one of them. She _is_ extraordinary, she’s very bright and clever, but I don’t think she’s extraordinary in that way.”  
  
“Mmmm,” Minerva said, nodding and not arguing. She didn’t need to. “Is that true, Hermione?”  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Granger turned as one to the parlor entrance that was to their backs, and they saw what Minerva had seen -- their daughter hovering at the edge of the doorway. When her parents turned around, Hermione shrank back, trying to hide, but she knew they had seen her, so after a moment, she crept back around the corner.  
  
“Hermione, love,” Mrs. Granger said. “Were you eavesdropping?”  
  
“You never said it was a private conversation,” Hermione said.  
  
Mr. Granger laughed. “Can’t fault that logic,” he said to no one in particular. “Come in here, sweetheart,” he said, gesturing to his daughter. Tentatively, she approached the sofa.  
  
“Hermione, did you hear the question Ms. McGonagall asked?” Wordlessly, Hermione nodded, sneaking furtive glances at Minerva. “And?”  
  
“And . . . I . . .” She dragged out those first two words, and then the rest tumbled out in a rush. “Promise you won’t be cross?”  
  
“Sweetheart, have we ever been cross with you for telling the truth?” Mrs. Granger asked, and Hermione shook her head, then took a deep breath.  
  
“I -- what sort of things do you mean?” she asked Minerva, not turning more than halfway toward her. Minerva almost smiled.  
  
“Lots of children will unlock doors or bring things to them from across a room. Sometimes they might break things without touching them, and very rarely, they can put things back together the same way. It’s usually fairly wild or uncontrolled, happening when you become angry or upset, but not always. Sometimes it can be more deliberate.”  
  
She watched Hermione carefully as she listed these types of underage magic, and her reactions only confirmed what Minerva already knew to be true. At the end of the list, Hermione nodded decisively and turned back to her parents.  
  
“I can do them. The things that she says.”  
  
The room went quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Minerva saw Mr. Granger exhale heavily, then nod, with the _That certainly explains some things_ look on his face that she had seen so often on others. Other than that, he accepted this new world order without much fuss. Mrs. Granger, on the other hand, seemed at a loss for words, as if she had expected Hermione to chime in that, no, she was no more extraordinary than any other slightly-more-than-usually-bright child. But she didn’t look dismayed, and she didn’t look upset, both of which Minerva had seen, and recently. Rather, she looked just a bit stunned, but she recovered quickly.  
  
“You can?” she asked her daughter, and Hermione nodded.  
  
“When I finished reading _Matilda_ \-- that’s a book with a girl who can move things with her eyes,” Hermione clarified for Minerva’s benefit. Minerva nodded.  
  
“I’m aware of the book. Go on.”  
  
“Well, I wanted to try myself, so I put a pencil on my chest of drawers, and I did, I made it move! It just lifted right up into the air! And sometimes I can’t reach things quite, so I wish really hard that I’ll be able to, and then I can, and it _wasn’t_ me just making a mistake the first time ‘round because I’ve done experiments to make sure I was really moving things. And last year, when Eddie Bolton made fun of me in art class, I got so mad I wished he’d dump paint on his head, and then he did, but it’s Eddie, and he’s always doing things like that, but _then_ I wished he would just stay green, and when he came back to school the next day, he _was_! I don’t know if that was magic, though, or just coincidence. The paint we use always stains my fingertips, but he was a lot more green than I think he would have been naturally. Oh! And I broke one of your bowls and put it back together so you wouldn’t be angry.”  
  
Hermione said all of this very quickly, her words running together and tumbling over themselves, but not so badly that Minerva couldn’t understand and marvel at the child before her. There was a moment of slightly stunned silence when she finished, then Mr. Granger laughed.  
  
“Well!” he said to Minerva. “I suppose there’s our answer, then. Though, unaccountable as all that does sound, it doesn’t sound as uncontrolled as you were describing.”  
  
Minerva shrugged. “It depends on the child,” she informed them. “Most Muggleborn wizards and witches -- Muggle is our term for those without magic -- do display their magic rather explosively, because they don’t understand what it is or that it can be controlled. But there are others, about a quarter of the overall number, I would guess, who are like Hermione -- understanding on some instinctual level what it is they can do, who become curious about whether or not it can be done deliberately.”  
  
“So . . . there are others like me?” Hermione asked, her voice hopeful. “If I went to your school . . . I wouldn’t be the only one?”  
  
Minerva gave her a rare kind smile. “No, my dear,” she assured the girl. “In the incoming class, there are four students other than yourself born to Muggle families, and a fifth who was raised by Muggles. Then there are nine, I believe, who were born to half-Muggle, half-magical couples. And that is in your year alone. Throughout the school, there are any number of students from a background similar to yours, who will understand how confusing it must be for you to come into all this. And honestly, wizard children aren’t as far ahead of you as you might think. They grow up with magic, yes, but they don’t learn to use it until they are eleven and come to school.”  
  
Hermione nodded and looked pensive at the new information. Mrs. Granger seemed to finally shake herself out of her shock. “You said you could offer us proof of all this?” she asked.  
  
“Of course,” Minerva said at once, retrieving her briefcase and pulling her wand out of it. She held it out on two outstretched hands for the Grangers to examine. “This is my wand,” she told them. “It is the most important tool of any witch or wizard. Now, then the spells we spoke of, making something lift into the air?” She pointed her wand at a picture frame across the room and spoke the incantation. As the frame rose, she heard Hermione’s delighted gasp. “A simple spell, really, that you will learn within your first two months.”  
  
She demonstrated a handful of others for them -- _Accio_ , _Reparo_ , some simple Transfiguration -- and then said, “I’m sure you must have questions about this. About magic and the school and the wizarding world. So go ahead and ask.”  
  
She spent the next hour answering questions about Hogwarts and the school year and the classes Hermione would take. ("So I won't learn maths or science or grammar at all?" Hermione asked in some shock. Minerva assured her, "Grammar you will learn by doing. All courses require essays and other written work. Maths and science are covered to some extent in many of your classes as they relate to the magic itself -- Potions, Astronomy, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, if you take that as an elective. It's not all incantations and wand waving. We study theory and long term effects and what happens to all that extra mass when you turn a desk into a pig." Hermione of course then wanted to know what _did_ happen to all the extra mass. “You end up with a very dense pig,” was Minerva’s reply.)  
  
She talked about the Ministry and the jobs Hermione might choose when she graduated. ("What if she decides she hates magic and wants to give it all up when she's done with school?" Mrs. Granger asked. Minerva informed them, "Then she can return to Essex and live as a Muggle and no one will bat an eye. It's more common than you'd think. Although, being a witch, Hermione will have a much higher likelihood of having magical children, so that's something to keep in mind. Many years in the future, of course.")  
  
She told them of the Statute of Secrecy and impressed upon them the need to keep the knowledge of the magical world quiet. ("Who are we permitted to tell? Are we going to have to keep monumental secrets from everyone we know?" Mr. Granger asked. Minerva told them, "The Statute allows for immediate family to know. Hermione's grandparents may know. Further than that . . . there is wiggle room, but use discretion. As for acquaintances and neighbors, we do have to ask that they be left in the dark. But there are several wizarding families living here in Essex, who I can put in touch with you. In the past, parents of incoming Muggleborns have sought each other out and developed lasting friendships. We know it is a hard thing we are asking you to do.")  
  
“It is also important for you to know that you are not _required_ to send Hermione to Hogwarts," she let them know as their questions seemed to be wrapping up. "We recommend it, because the older she becomes, the more her magic usage can get her into trouble, especially now that she knows what it is. But if this isn’t a world that you want to be a part of, you don’t have to be.”  
  
“But I do!” Hermione interrupted, then immediately apologized for the outburst. “I do, I really do want to go,” she said, calmer but no less earnest. ”Please, Mum, can I? _Please_ , Daddy.”  
  
“If this is what you want, then of course you can,” Mrs. Granger said. “So what is our next step, Ms. McGonagall?”  
  
Minerva smiled and pulled Hermione’s acceptance letter and the card with the address to The Leaky Cauldron from her briefcase. “First of all, my title is Professor. It’s what Miss Granger will call me at school, so we might as well use it. Second of all, this,” --she handed the parchment envelope to Hermione -- “is your letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. Inside you will find a train ticket. The Hogwarts Express leaves from Kings Cross at 11am on September first. You’re looking for Platform 9 ¾ -- a platform hidden, of course, from Muggles. To reach it, all you have to do is walk through the barrier between platforms nine and ten.”  
  
“That’s all, is it?” Mr. Granger asked with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
“Are only wizards and witches allowed through?” Mrs. Granger asked.  
  
“No,” Minerva assured her. “You’ll be able to cross through as well, to see your daughter off. Now, then, also in that envelope is your school list -- your required spellbooks, uniform, magical materials, those sorts of things. You’ll need to go to Diagon Alley. Go to this address in London.” She handed over the address card. “It’s for a pub called The Leaky Cauldron. Now, The Leaky Cauldron is enchanted so that it can only be seen by those who already know it is there. I believe the Muggle entrance appears between a bookshop and a record store. Once inside, ask for Tom.”  
  
“Tom?” Mrs. Granger repeated, writing down the information.  
  
“Yes, he runs the place. Now, he knows the look of Muggles when he sees them, so you probably won’t have to tell him who you are. But he’ll see that you’re met by a Muggle liaison from the Ministry, who will help you change your money at the bank and obtain all the necessities for Hogwarts. They can also answer any questions you have at any point.”  
  
“So it won’t be you meeting us there?” Hermione asked, sounding a bit disappointed. Minerva hid a smile.  
  
“Sadly, no. I will be at Hogwarts, preparing for the school year. But the Muggle liaisons are wonderful. They are trained to help keep you from feeling too overwhelmed. This is, after all, a fairly overwhelming revelation.”  
  
“Do you have personal experience with that fact?” Mr. Granger asked, and Minerva did smile then.  
  
“Yes,” she answered simply. “I’m half-blooded. My mother was a witch, but she kept it from my father, as many wizards and witches who marry Muggles do. I didn’t learn of my heritage until I was eight years old, so yes, I know the feeling of having the rug pulled out from under you. Now then, do you have any other questions I can answer tonight? I know it's getting late."  
  
The question was open to all three, of course, but it was to Hermione that Minerva spoke directly. The young girl considered the question for a long time. "I don't think so," she finally said. "But what if I come up with more?"  
  
“Write them down, and ask your liaison to take you to the Post Office when you visit Diagon Alley. You can send them to me, and I will answer them.”  
  
“Hear that, Hermione?” her father said with a smile. “There’s a good magic job for you -- wizard postman!” Hermione giggled, and Minerva smiled.  
  
“Well, our post is delivered by owl, but you can be a post owl trainer, should you choose.”  
  
“Will we need to have an owl, then, if we want to write to Hermione at school?” Mrs. Granger asked with some concern. Minerva could see her mentally rearranging the house to make room for the care and keeping of an owl.  
  
“No,” she assured her. “The school has a number of owls available for any students to use. So long as Hermione writes to you, you’ll be able to send your reply back with her owl. Just ask it to wait.”  
  
“There was . . . some funny business, involving owls,” Mr. Granger remarked in a musing tone toward his wife. “About ten years ago now, do you remember?”  
  
“Yes!” Mrs. Granger said with a gasp. “We saw them flocking about all over town for a few days, it was on the news!”  
  
“Yes, well, I never said we always manage to _follow_ the Statute of Secrecy,” Minerva said drily. “Something rather momentous happened in our world about ten years ago, and you couldn’t very well expect an entire nation of wizards to keep quiet about it. Think, oh . . .” She searched for an appropriate Muggle example. “Think V. E. Day, only if the rest of the country had no idea you existed. Though if you think wizards weren’t also celebrating V. E. Day -- never mind.” She could tell she’d piqued their interest, but now was not the time to get into juxtaposed wizard-Muggle history. “There are any number of history books you can purchase in Diagon Alley to fill you in on both counts.”  
  
“I have a feeling that between Hermione’s interests and ours, we’ll be buying half the bookstore!” Mr. Granger said with a laugh.  
  
“At least that will be a point of familiarity then,” Mrs. Granger replied, nudging her daughter in the side with a knowing look. Hermione giggled again.  
  
“Well, then,” Minerva said, standing, and the Grangers all stood as well. “It was a pleasure to meet all of you.” She shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and nodded to Hermione. “I look forward to seeing you on September first,” she said.  
  
“Me too,” Hermione said, real excitement shining in her eyes, with just a hint of nervousness.  
  
It took the Grangers almost three weeks to have the time to make the trip to Diagon Alley. Minerva had an understanding with the Muggle Liaison Office of the Ministry. They reported back to her on any and all Muggle visits to Wizarding London that they chaperoned. Liaison Officer Kelsey Douglas (a Muggleborn witch herself, who had finished at Hogwarts some five years before) informed Minerva that Hermione was wide-eyed and curious and had shown up with three pages worth of questions that Minerva could expect shortly by owl. The Grangers had indeed bought up just about half the bookstore (and only _some_ of the purchases had been for Hermione), and though Hermione had made an impressively impassioned case, her parents had not consented to buy her a cat for school.  
  
Smiling, Minerva set aside Kelsey’s report and turned to the three-page letter of questions from Hermione. It took her most of an hour to answer all of them, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. Hermione Granger was her favorite kind of student -- inquisitive and dedicated -- and Minerva was greatly looking forward to seeing what Hermione could do in the classroom.  
  
But at the moment, it was Hermione’s last question, hastily added in a postscript, likely at the Post Office itself, that was giving her pause.  
  
_May I practice some of the magic in my spellbooks before September first? I don’t want to be behind when I get to Hogwarts._  
  
The answer really ought to be no -- underage witches and wizards, once they knew what they were, were not permitted to perform or practice magic. But there was something about Hermione Granger. Minerva knew that, unlike certain other young magicians she could name, when Hermione asked to practice her spellwork, she wished to do exactly that. Minerva knew this child -- she had taught so many like her. She knew the fears, the hesitations, the anxieties. It wasn’t really about mastering the spells; it was about the reassurance that yes, they _could_ do magic, that all this hadn’t been a mistake.  
  
And she was sympathetic. So she replied, _You may practice the spells in the first chapter of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One this Friday afternoon, provided you can do so someplace private, where you will not be seen. Outdoors is preferable, in case something goes awry. I wish you the best of luck, but don’t be discouraged if you have trouble mastering these spells. Focused magic is difficult, and there are many components to consider. Independent mastery has no bearing on how you will perform at school. _  
  
Then she sent a message to the Ministry informing them that she would be in Essex County that Friday afternoon for her follow-up visit to the Grangers, and that any magic recorded in the area at that time would be for that reason.  
  
She found Hermione in the Grangers’ back garden, a small green space enclosed by a high fence. The girl was sitting on the step to the back porch, a thick spellbook beside her held open with a rock, a shiny new wand clutched in her hand.  
  
“‘While saying the incantation, rotate your wand in a sweeping circle anticlockwise, then point it at the object you wish to levitate,’” Hermione muttered, a line of concentration creasing her eyebrows. “I _did_ that.” Biting back a sigh, she looked up at the leaf she’d placed in the grass in front of her. Extending her wand, she moved it in a slow circle so it ended up pointing at the leaf as she said, “ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ”  
  
Nothing happened. The leaf fluttered ever so slightly, but that might have been the wind. Hermione sighed and propped her chin on her hand glumly. Minerva, always a teacher, diagnosed the issue instantly. Her swish was fine, but her flick lacked muster.  
  
“ _Mrrow!_ ” Minerva said to get Hermione’s attention. Hermione caught sight of her and lit up.  
  
“Kitty!” she exclaimed as Minerva trotted over and allowed her ears to be scratched. “You’re back! I know I can trust you not to tell anyone about this. But guess what!” Hermione leaned down close and lowered her voice to an exuberant whisper. “I’m a witch! I have magic! This lady came and told us all about it, and I thought it all might be a hoax, but then we went to this place, Diagon Alley, and it was real! All these people, using magic and I’m one too! I can’t even tell you how excited I am! I get to go to a special school, and, well, that’s what all this is. I’m trying to practice before I get there, so I’m not so behind. I can do a few things all right. Look!”  
  
She straightened on her porch step, back ramrod straight, and held her wand out. “ _Lumos!_ ” The end of her wand lit up. “ _Nox_.” The light went out. “ _Igniculus!_ ” Blue and gold sparks flew out of the end of her wand, narrowly missing Minerva, who stepped out of the way with practiced ease. “Oops,” Hermione said, looking sheepish. “That one is probably why Professor McGonagall told me to practice outside. The book says a lot of young wizards and witches will make sparks fly out of their wands when they’re first finding the one that fits. Mine didn’t, though. Water came out of the end and the whole room smelled like lilacs. But here it is, see? Vine, ten and three quarters inches long, and with a dragon heartstring core. Can you believe that? Dragons!”  
  
For a moment, her face lit up gleefully, but then she got it back under control. “Anyway,” she said. “I can do those three. And the severing charm worked pretty well. And I got the back door to unlock. But I can’t get this leaf to levitate. I know Professor McGonagall told me not to get discouraged, but that charm is from chapter one like the others! I should be able to do it!”  
  
Minerva considered Hermione for a long moment, then she trotted to the leaf and nudged it with her nose with another “ _Mrrow_!”  
  
“I know,” Hermione said with a smile. “I should just keep practicing. You’re like my mother and the piano. Okay.” She took a deep breath and straightened again, pointing her wand at the leaf once more. But this time, once she’d finished the circle, Minerva reached out one paw and tapped her hand swiftly, bringing it down at the end of the movement with much more force. And slowly, the leaf lifted up in the air.  
  
Hermione gasped in delight, a grin lighting up her face. “Thank you, kitty!” she exclaimed, and then the strangeness of it all seemed to hit her. She peered curiously at Minerva, an intense frown on her face. “It is strange,” she said, “that you should have known how to help, almost like ---”  
  
She stopped herself and then shook her head as if to clear it. “Never mind,” she said with a smile. “I’ve been reading too many of these books.” She sighed and reached out to scratch Minerva’s ears. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to come to Hogwarts with me. It’d be nice to have a friend.” Her smile slipped just a little, and for that moment she looked so fearful, so nervous and uncertain that Minerva was compelled to butt her head against Hermione’s hand and nuzzle briefly into her palm. Hermione gave a little laugh.  
  
“Oh, I’m all right, but thank you. I’m sure I’ll make friends. After all, it’s just -- just a new adventure, right? That’s what Mum says. A new adventure.” She almost sounded like she believed it, so Minerva was confident that Hermione Granger would be all right.  
  
Actually, she mused when she was back at Hogwarts that night, she thought _all_ of the Muggleborns this year would be all right, if she could get them to the school.  
  
Dean Thomas’s mother hadn’t seemed terribly surprised by the news, though his father/stepfather (there was a discrepancy with the Quill of Acceptance and what Mrs. Thomas had told her. Minerva had her suspicions, but she was keeping them to herself) had contributed mostly outbursts like “Magic! Can you believe that?” to the meeting.  
  
Kevin Entwhistle, whose mother informed her that he had been obsessed with dragons since the age of seven, could not have been more excited to learn he was a real-life wizard, and his parents had been nothing but supportive.  
  
Sally-Anne Perks’s parents had needed constant assurances that Hogwarts was safe and that their daughter would not be in danger from the magical world, but they had agreed to let her attend in the end. _Though Heaven preserve us,_ Minerva had thought but not said aloud, _if another war pops up. I have a feeling that child will disappear altogether._  
  
Justin Finch-Fletchley was the only remaining question-mark, because while he was quite excited to attend a magical school, his parents couldn’t quite let go of the fact that he had been accepted to Eton a year early. According to her correspondence with the Liaison’s Office, Justin was the only Muggleborn student who had not yet visited Diagon Alley. Minerva had just sent a letter to a nearby wizard family to ask if they would go and talk to the Finch-Fletchleys, as well as pass along the idea to Justin that if their talk didn’t work, some big explosive and inconvenient display of underage magic might. Minerva had high hopes of seeing Justin on September first.  
  
So, that was that, she thought as she straightened her files and got everything in order. Three new Hufflepuffs, and two Gryffindors, unless she missed her guess. Sally-Anne could be a Slytherin in a different climate, and Justin and Hermione both had the minds for Ravenclaw, but Minerva was fairly certain she knew which aspects of personality would win out.  
  
All in all, a successful summer, though her thoughts did keep straying to Hermione Granger, far more than they usually did to incoming Muggleborns. Perhaps it was the echoes of herself she saw in the girl. That would certainly explain what had possessed her to spend so much time around Hermione in her cat form. She’d been caught off guard the first time, certainly, but she could have run away and hidden in the bushes. She hadn’t had to sidle up and drink the milk and encourage petting, and she certainly hadn’t had to help the girl with her magic the second time around.  
  
Shaking her head in some dismay, Minerva knew she’d be in for it in two years when she showed off her Animagus form to the third years. Muggleborn students she’d spent far less time around than Hermione had made the connection, and their explanation had been far less complicated than Hermione’s would be. But that was a bridge she would cross when she came to it. (Hermione would in fact make the connection her third year, and would even stay after class to ask about it, but she would get as far as “Professor, when you came to tell me I was a witch, there was this cat--” before deciding that, actually, she didn’t want to know. So. Curse dodged.)  
  
But for now, Minerva was as ready as she could be, and as always, she was excited to see what these students would become. 

**Author's Note:**

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